


time and tide wait for no man

by katsukifatale (TrumpetGeek)



Series: yuri!!! on zines [8]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Supportive Phichit Chulanont, Travel, Zine, yuuris dreams have come true and now its phichits turn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 22:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16128458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrumpetGeek/pseuds/katsukifatale
Summary: “I’m supposed to be the one who flubs jumps,” says the mop of black hair standing over him. He squints up against the brightness and Yuuri’s concerned frown and big brown doe eyes come into focus. “I’m actually kind of offended by how spectacularly you missed that landing.”“Huh,” he says in response. “You’re right. Weird.”





	time and tide wait for no man

**Author's Note:**

> i'm posting this like five weeks late but timezones are hard and i'm still getting used to the whole 'teaching high school in japan' thing. but yeah, here it is! wanted to get it in before the typhoons hit (yep, two of them, rest in pieces japan).
> 
> i got the privilege of partnering with the amazing jo on this project for phichitzine. once she posts the art i'll link so yall can retweet/reblog to your hearts content because her art is a gift, but until then please go check out her blog [here](http://rynyn.tumblr.com/)!

 

 

Phichit lands on his back with a surprised whumph. All the air in his lungs leaves in a wheeze, and for a moment he flounders as the wet chill of the ice seeps slowly into his workout clothes. Once he gets his lungs working again he takes in a deep, gasping breath and opens his eyes to the harsh lights of the Detroit Skate Club’s practice rink.

 

 

“I’m supposed to be the one who flubs jumps,” says the mop of black hair standing over him. He squints up against the brightness and Yuuri’s concerned frown and big brown doe eyes come into focus. “I’m actually kind of offended by how spectacularly you missed that landing.”

 

 

“Huh,” he says in response. “You’re right. Weird.”

 

 

(Phichit loves jumping.

 

 

There’s freedom in the weightlessness of those few seconds off the ice — something powerful, too, in the gathering of rotations and the smack of a single blade taking all of his weight once he comes back down to earth. It’s not his favorite thing about figure skating — that’d be the artistry — but it had been what made him fall in love with skating in the first place, sitting in front of his television as a child watching skaters from all these other nations flying and spinning and defying the laws of physics with their bodies.

 

 

His mother had always told him that his dreams were too big for Thailand, that he deserved to fly instead of being caged.

 

 

Today, though, has been fail after fail and he’s _tired_.

 

 

Yuuri stands there awkwardly for another moment and then unceremoniously plops down next to him, legs splayed out to avoid gouging the ice with his blades. His clothes are being soaked now but he pays them no mind, reaching out instead to draw Phichit’s numb hand into his own to rub feeling back into it. Phichit has never loved him more than he does in this moment.)

 

 

“So,” Yuuri says to the ceiling. “Tell me about your dreams.”

 

 

Phichit laughs. “I want a ten thousand instagram followers.”

 

 

“And?”

 

 

“I want to make Thailand and my mama proud.”

 

 

“You already do, Phi. What else?”

 

 

“Hm.. It’s stupid, so don’t laugh,” he says. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Yuuri holding up his pinky finger in the universal sign for pinky promise. “Maybe...an ice show?”

 

 

“That’s not stupid at all. You know, someday you’re going to be the sole inspiration for some Thai kid to put on a pair of figure skates.”

 

 

“What do you mean, ‘someday’?” Phichit mutters. “I don’t know if you know this, but I am already a Thai national treasure.”

 

 

The laugh bursts out of Yuuri like he’s surprised by it — it’s honestly one of the most endearing things about him, in Phichit’s humble opinion, that he can be surprised into laughter. He squeezes Yuuri’s hand in his.

 

 

“What about you? What are Katsuki Yuuri’s dreams?

 

 

“I want to — um.” Yuuri trails off and when Phichit looks over he’s red from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck.

 

 

“Yuuri, we all know about your not-so-secret desire to bone the Darling of Russia,” he says flatly.

 

 

“Oh my god.”

 

 

“Listen you have at least a dozen posters of him under your bed.”

 

 

“Stop. No. Why are you like this.”

 

 

“I’m just calling it like I see it. Don’t give me sass.”

 

 

He doesn’t need to be looking at Yuuri to know his best friend is rolling his eyes at him so hard he can probably see the back of his own skull.

 

 

“You’re a menace. You know that, right?”

 

 

“Yeah, yeah, you can’t evade my question forever you know. For one, Ciao Ciao is gonna notice we aren’t running through our programs soon and then we’re going to have to explain to him why we’re both just lying here. I mean, at least I have an excuse. You’re just being lazy.”

 

 

Yuuri laughs again. “Alright fine. I — I want to skate on the same ice as Viktor someday,” he says quietly like he’s confessing a sin. “I also want to go to the Chiang Mai lantern festival. Someday.”

 

 

“Someday,” Phichit echoes, considering. “We’ll get there someday. Together.”

 

 

“Katuski! Chulanont! Back to work!”

 

 

Yuuri sighs and tries to roll over, but can’t. His wet clothes have stuck to the ice.

 

 

Phichit snorts so hard he chokes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chiang Mai is beautiful; it is even more so during Yi Peng.

 

 

The city streets come alive with the festivities even before the sun begins to set along the horizon. Noise and color rise around them in increments until the world bursts with it everywhere, vibrant and decadent. The air drips with the enticing smell of traditional Thai food, buzzes with the afterimages of bright sparklers. There’s laughter too, and smiles on the faces of tourists and locals alike, and live music performed on street corners.

 

 

And of course there are lanterns, everywhere, filling every space and crevice with their warm glow and their promises for the future.

 

 

A lot of people think that the act of releasing the lanterns is synonymous with the act of letting go of all of the previous year’s misfortunes. Every bump along the road, every fall on the ice, ever failed jump and failure to podium — every job lost, every child with an illness, every difficult harvest. People think these horrors of everyday life are attached and to the lanterns and sent off to float away, to never be seen or thought of again. People forget, as they often do, that the festival is about hope.

 

 

When you grow up with something sometimes it’s hard to remember the wider picture, but seeing it through Yuuri’s eyes — watching the fascinated way he looked around himself, wide brown eyes taking in every detail of light and color, ears taking in every sound, nose every smell and taste — is like experiencing it anew himself.

 

 

They split some pad thai and khanom chun for dessert from one of the food stands, and Phichit delights in the way Yuuri’s eyes slip closed as he eats, the khanom chun sweet on their tongues; they take in some traditional Thai dance, laughing and fumbling along as they try out the steps; they stop on street corners to listen to the live music and add their voices to the crowd.

 

 

They wind through the streets until they reach Mae Jo University, just as the last bit of sunlight falls beneath the horizon, and it’s then that Yuuri’s face truly opens up in wonder as people begin to light their lanterns. The dark world is cast in light so bright it could have been day, and past the reflection in Yuuri’s glasses he can see the wonder and glow in his friend’s brown eyes.

 

 

“This is beautiful,” Yuuri breathes. “These lanterns are as big as me!”

 

 

“I know,” Phichit replies with a sly grin. “Made it really hard to hide this from you.”

 

 

He tugs off his backpack and from its depths he pulls out a folded up lantern. He turns it over in his hands for a moment, feeling its shape and size, feeling full of love for his people and for his best friend.

 

 

“I told you all those years ago that I wanted to start an ice show, so I can share the joys of skating with the country I love. In just one week I get to do fulfill that dream with my friends at my side. Phichit On Ice is going to be incredible because I had you to help make it happen — no Yuuri, you _did_ help,” he says when Yuuri tries to deflect credit. “You laid down on the ice and held my hand and didn’t laugh when I told you my dreams. You encouraged me in every way possible, even though sometimes your anxiety made you an asshole and you abandoned me for a rich Russian man and made him your husband.”

 

 

There’s no rest for those who seek greatness — at least that’s what his mother always told him on days when he’d practiced so hard he’d practically had to drag himself home from the rink. He’d worked himself to the bone in those days just trying to get noticed, to give his dream the chance it needed to grow. She’d make him his favorite food — khao kha mu, which was completely off his diet — and she’d tell him stories about her day or about his childhood or one of his siblings. And then, when his plate and his mind had both been cleared, she’d ask him if he was ready to go back tomorrow. And he’d inevitably say yes.

 

 

And now he’s got gold medals and an ice show.

 

 

He’d done that. Him. And so had Yuuri.

 

 

“I told you we’d get here someday.”

 

 

“You did,” Yuuri laughs, soft and watery and perfect.

 

 

Phichit unfolds their lantern, shaking out the wrinkles and the creases, and hands Yuuri a matchbox. He takes it with glistening eyes, and makes light.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
